


Let's Bail

by SweetsAndTreats



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bar Fight, Bisexual Sylvain Jose Gautier, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Minor Injuries, drunk sylvain, ingrid bailing him out (again), not that you can really tell but w/e, sylvain being a dumbass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 23:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20434472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetsAndTreats/pseuds/SweetsAndTreats
Summary: When Annette and Mercedes bring Ingrid along for a "girl's night out", she's determined to actually engage for once. Even though she hasn't always been the most social butterfly, maybe if she tries hard enough, she might even have fun.That all goes out the window the moment she sees Sylvain at the other end of the bar, chatting up some older woman. And suddenly that's the only thing she can think about. In the whole bar, his is the only voice she can seem to hear, and it's putting her on edge. But Sylvain's an adult, and definitely not her problem. Not tonight, anyway. So why can't she let it go?





	Let's Bail

Ingrid had never considered herself much of a “girly-girl”. That wasn’t to say she would go out of her way to avoid explicitly “girly” things: just that nothing of that sort ever really held any appeal to her.

Not like that didn’t stop Annette and Mercedes from doing all they could to get her to go out and spend some “girl” time with them, though.

And she appreciated the thought. She really did. Sometimes, even, Ingrid would end up enjoying herself. But more often than not, she'd find herself drifting off in thought: her mind traveling away from whatever inconsequential activity they were doing and wandering back to the training grounds or lingering on some new technique she’d yet to master.

Ingrid shook her head, shutting her eyes lightly. Here she was doing it again, her thoughts already escaping her when the night had only just started.

Mercie and Annette had insisted they go bar hopping tonight, in celebration of a recent victory against an insurgent of bandits. Which was a reasonable thing to do, she supposed. Although if it had been anyone but Mercedes asking, Ingrid likely would have declined to come along at all. Social activities like this just...weren't her thing.

Ingrid glanced quickly at Annette and Mercie, deeply invested in a conversation about the sorcery school they’d both attended. She clasped her hands a bit awkwardly behind her, staring at her feet as they dragged along the rough cobblestone. She’d never had many friends before, at least not the sorts of friends that would rather spend a Saturday evening out, instead of studying or training. And t o be frank, situations like this left her feeling a bit self-conscious.

“Ingrid, are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale, and you’ve been awfully quiet this whole time.” Ingrid’s attention snapped to Mercedes, her thoughts breaking up like clouds of smoke.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she assured with a small smile. “Just thinking. Don’t mind me.”

“Are you certain?” Mercedes asked, “Let me know if anything changes, alright? Don’t feel like you have to over-exert yourself on our behalf.”

“Yeah, seriously Ingrid,” Annette chimed in, “If you’re tired, we can put a raincheck on tonight. We did just get back from our trip up north, after all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine,” she assured, “And I’m excited, really.”

“Well, if you say so I guess,” Annette grabbed her hand suddenly, tugging her off the main walkway and towards a stout wooden tavern sitting along the corner of the street. “C’mon, let’s try here,” she chimed happily.

Ingrid had just enough time to glance up at the name of the bar before Annette had hauled her inside. The Boar’s Tail. Ingrid thought she might have heard the name somewhere before, but she couldn’t place it.

Mercedes and Annette had started chatting about school days again. Ingrid fell into step silently behind them, eyes wandering around the assortment of tables and patrons scattered about the room. For how shabby the place had looked from the outside, it was a nice little space. Not watching where she was going, Ingrid bumped into Mercedes, who’d come to a stop at the counter.

“Sorry Mercedes, I…” Ingrid trailed off, unable to finish the thought as her roaming eyes locked onto the back corner of the room. She groaned irritably. Ingrid would recognize that messy flash of red hair anywhere.

Sylvain. And two guesses as to what he was doing here.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Ingrid mumbled, staring straight past her.

Sylvain lounged against a small round table against the back wall with that obnoxious look on his face he got when he was trying to be charming. The pretty brunette woman sitting across from him all but confirmed her suspicions. She was leaning just a little too far across the table for Ingrid’s liking: sighing and batting her eyes in that annoying way girls tended to do when Sylvain was around. Not only that, but she looked to be at least four or five years older than them. What game was Sylvain playing?

“Ingrid? Ingrid, are you alright?”

Eyes snapping back to Mercedes, Ingrid realized with a small bit of embarrassment that Mercedes had been trying to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, would you mind repeating that?”

“I asked if you were sure you’re doing alright. You looked almost...angry for a moment there.” Mercedes trailed off as Annette tugged lightly on the cuff of her sleeve.

“Hey Mercie, check it out, I think I can see what’s got her so distracted,” she pointed towards Sylvain.

“Oh, it’s Sylvain!” Mercedes began to wave at him, but Annette quickly caught her arm, lowering it slowly.

“Don’t bother,” Ingrid said tartly. “I think he’s a little too preoccupied at the moment to notice anyway.”

Annette shot her a sympathetic look, “Hey, Ingrid, don’t worry about that jerk. Just ignore him, you know how he is.”

“I do. More than well,” Ingrid said with a small sigh. “The number of times I’ve had to bail him out for being an ass, or just a complete dickhead, should qualify me for some sort of prize.”

“Definitely. I know I could never be that patient with him,” Annette said resolutely, “Honestly, I’m not sure why you put up with Sylvain at all, Ingrid. But you know what? He’s not our problem tonight,” Annette patted her arm, gently guiding Ingrid in the opposite direction. "And don't you think it'd do him some good to have to sort out his own issues for once?"

“Maybe…” Ingrid quietly peered over her shoulder, a look of concern briefly washing over her face. “But I don’t know, I can’t see this ending well…” Something about how he was holding himself was...off. Sylvain was being quite a bit touchier than he usually was, even if the other woman seemed to be eating it up. She suspected Sylvain was in a mood.

And things pretty much never ended well when he was moody. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“He’s an adult now, Ingrid. I know you’ve been looking after him since we were kids, but he can handle himself.” Even Ingrid couldn’t miss the slight note of irritation in Annette’s voice, although she couldn’t quite tell which of them it was directed at. Still, Ingrid felt a touch guilty: she shouldn’t be dragging Annette and Mercedes into Sylvain’s problems.

“I know, I know. I just...worry,” Ingrid finally managed to tear her eyes off the idiot, sending Annette a withering look.

“We can start somewhere else if you’d prefer Ingrid.”

“No, no I’ll be fine.” Ingrid managed a smile, as she was corralled into a tight corner booth that put Sylvain out of her line of sight. She was sure Annette had done this on purpose. Regardless, Ingrid almost instantly felt more at ease. “Thank you, though.”

“Sure,” Annette smiled, patting her lightly on the shoulder as she walked off to get drinks.

“I think Sylvain should count himself lucky: he really doesn’t deserve a girl like you, Ingrid,” Mercedes said with a small smile.

“Thank you, but...Annette’s right. I baby him too much.”

“Oh, I don’t think so at all! It's rather sweet, really. I wish I could be so lucky," Mercedes said dreamily, "I'd love to find someone I cared for that much one day."

Ingrid chuckled. “Mercedes, you make it sound as if we’re dating.”

“Oh?” Mercedes expression became troubled for a moment. “I suppose I thought...oh well, never mind. Anyway, Ingrid, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something you’d said in class last week, it was really quite fascinating." She didn't miss how quickly Mercedes jumped to change the subject, but Ingrid allowed her to without complaint.

It was surprisingly easy to fall into conversation with Mercedes. She was a good listener, and with such a warm personality, talking to her was the easiest thing in the world. Even despite the fact they had few common interests. When Annette returned, Ingrid had just launched into a discussion about a new type of herbal tea that was supposed to stave off exhaustion.

Which got Annette started on some energizing spell the students at the School of Sorcery had passed around during exam season, and then her and Mercedes were off talking about their school days again.

That suited Ingrid fine: she much preferred sitting and listening over droning on about herself or her interests. It made her feel a bit insecure to hold the spotlight so long, it was relieving when she had the opportunity to just quietly enjoy a conversation.

Her reverie was sharply interrupted by Sylvain’s loud, barking laugh. She bristled. He was out of sight, but not out of earshot, apparently. The knowledge was a curse: now it was like the only voice in the bar she could hear was Sylvain’s lilting smooth talk and the flitzy, tinkling noises coming from the woman he’d managed to rope in.

Ingrid tried to listen to Mercedes and Annette, she really did. But she just couldn’t seem to keep her attention off Sylvain. It didn’t help that for some reason, he was being incredibly loud tonight. Ingrid grimaced. She was sure the whole bar could hear him at this point.

Insofar, he had managed to exhaust nearly every cheesy pick-up line in his reserves: words Ingrid had heard a thousand times before on a thousand different girls. She felt her stomach roll. Seriously, how did women find  _ anything _ that dribbled from his mouth attractive?

And, yet, loathe as she was to admit it, things seemed to be going fairly smoothly. It was rather astonishing. He would make a joke and for some reason, she would laugh, or tease him, or -- ugh, she was actually going to be sick now.

“Ingrid? Are you sure you’re feeling well? You’re looking very pale,” Mercie asked kindly.

“Yeah, seriously Ingrid if you’re not feeling up to it, we’ll go out another time. Or we could head back to the monastery for tonight and find something calmer to do if you’d prefer,” Annette said.

“No, I’m fine, I am really. I’m just,” Ingrid made a small, frustrated noise, “Just a bit distracted.”

“Sylvain again?” Annette guessed with a sigh.

“Yes,” Ingrid admitted. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help it. I’ve always looked out for him growing up. If I weren’t around, that big idiot probably would have been killed off by a dozen girls and their fathers by now. He needs me.”

“And that’s very sweet of you to be worried Ingrid,” Mercedes cut in, “But Sylvain is capable of taking care of himself.”

“I know that, I just--”

“Seriously Ingrid, you shouldn’t let him distract you this much. Whatever he does is  _ his  _ problem. And really, if anything happens, he’ll probably have deserved it,” Annette said.

“I can't argue there,” Ingrid huffed.

“Then stop worrying about some dumb guy and talk to your friends, dummy,” Annette said with a grin.

“Alright. I’ll try,” she promised.

This time, Ingrid found she easily fell into conversation with the other two. Surprisingly, and with a bit of effort, she was able to put Sylvain out of her mind.

“I still can’t get my head around any of the mathematics concepts we’ve been studying,” Mercedes said, looking stumped. “Actually, I had gone to search out the professor the other day and see if she couldn’t clear things up, but you’ll never guess who I found in her office instead...” Mercedes trailed off, interrupted by a loud clattering noise coming from behind them.

“I cannot  _ believe _ you!” Demanded a shrill, feminine voice. Ingrid turned in her chair, leaning out into the aisle to see what was going on, with Mercedes and Annette following suit. And not just them: the whole bar seemed to be watching.

Her eyes immediately fell on Sylvain. Because of course, of  _ course _ , it was Sylvain. Why was she even surprised?

The clattering noise had apparently been Sylvain knocking his chair over from getting up too quickly. He now stood alongside the table, the brunette woman he’d been with backing him firmly into a corner. Despite that, his expression was completely blank. “You are the slimiest, skeeziest, biggest jerk I’ve  _ ever _ met! How could someone be so terrible, why did I even agree to  _ go out _ with you?!”

“I knew this was going to happen,” Ingrid said irritably, rising from her seat. Annette caught her arm before she had a chance to run over.

“Hold on a second Ingrid, let’s just listen,” she said.

“C’mon, I said I was sorry. But I don’t get it, what’d I do to make ya so upset, baby?” Sylvain asked, hands held up in front of him defensively.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ talk to me like that, you filthy animal,” she snarled. “Are you serious? What, do you have the memory of a fish?” She demanded shrilly.

“I still don’t--”

“Don’t play dumb, I know you were the one that broke my little sister’s heart. And you didn’t even wait a week, one week, before jumping right back into it with her  _ own kin _ . The second you saw me, you wasted no time in chatting me up with no hesitation. You’re a sociopath.”

“You’re the one who agreed to let me buy you a drink,” Sylvain said defensively.

“That was before I knew I was a rebound for my  _ own sister _ !”

“Ok lemme get one thing straight, you were  _ not _ a rebound. I don’t rebound. I  _ move on _ .”

“Oh yes, why don’t you tell that to my poor dear sister who is  _ still _ locked up in her room all day, crying her eyes out over some...some low life bastard!” She shrieked.

“Hey, hey hey, I told ya, I didn’t know you two were related. And calm down, people are staring.”

“Good! I hope all of Gareg Mach knows how much of a jerk you are.” 

hen the woman did something really unnecessary: she punched him square in the face.

Now a slap? Alright, sure, Ingrid thought that was more than warranted at this point. But as Sylvain straightened himself, Ingrid immediately spotted a thin trail of blood dribbling down his lip from his right nostril. It was hard to tell at this distance, but it looked like his nose was broken.

Despite the damage, Sylvain remained silent. Stiffening, he just stood there, staring coldly at the woman. Apparently unsatisfied, she raised her fist and hit him again, landing another hard blow just above his eye. Sylvain barely flinched this time, still electing to stay quiet when she pulled away, even though a nasty looking gash had appeared along his temple.

“That stupid boy is going to let himself get beaten bloody,” Ingrid grumbled, wrenching her arm free of Annette, who let go without protest. In several short seconds, Ingrid had marched purposefully across the floor of the bar.

Sylvain’s eyes traveled quickly from the brunette to Ingrid as she ground to a stop next to the other woman. His face softened as he caught Ingrid’s eye, but she met his gaze sternly. His expression wavered, flashing with guilt.

The brunette, apparently unaware of Ingrid’s presence, had the audacity to raise her fist again. Ingrid grabbed her shoulder roughly, causing the woman to hesitate. She just barely angled her head to the side, flashing Ingrid a look of distaste.

“Can I help you?” She leered venomously.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Stay in your own lane, blondie.” The woman gave a small huff, narrowing her eyes at Ingrid. “This jerk deserves what he’s getting.”

“I can't really argue with that,” Ingrid admitted, “I...sort of overheard your whole conversation. And, look, I know Sylvain can be a handful sometimes, but you’re taking this too far. I mean look at him, he isn’t even trying to block you. I think he’s learned his lesson.”

The woman turned to fully face her now, eyes gleaming wickedly in the dim light of the tavern. A condescending smile carved out her lips. “Listen, sweetheart, why don’t you just mind your own damn business, hmm?”

“No,” Ingrid said firmly, not missing a beat.

“How obnoxious. This is why I hate you little academy brats.” Ingrid continued to glare down the brunette, unwavering. The woman barked out a laugh suddenly, “You’re kidding me, are you seriously going to  _ defend _ this low life?”

“Maybe I will.”

“Stupid little girl,” she sneered, shaking Ingrid off her. “You’re just as rotten, for defending something so abhorrent,” she spat. The woman raised her hands suddenly as if she meant to shove Ingrid in the chest, but something stopped her. Sylvain had reached out, grabbing the brunette’s elbow before she had the chance.

“That’s enough.” The cold look had returned to Sylvain’s eyes, but now, underneath it sparked burning aggression. And with all the blood streaming down his face against the dim lighting of the tavern, he looked downright scary. Ingrid barely repressed a shudder. The only time she saw Sylvain get like this was on the battlefield, and even then it was rare.

“What do you want?” She sneered.

“Sylvain, let’s just get out of here,” Ingrid pleaded. She didn’t like the look of hatred clouding Sylvain’s face. It was so...intense.

“She was going to push you,” he ground out, eyes never leaving the brunette, “I don’t care what she does to me. I deserve it. But not when it’s you. That’s different.”

“Oooh, I see what’s happening here,” the brunette said darkly. But there was a new, almost reserved nature to her tone, “Since you got dumped by me, you were hoping if you side with this nosy bitch here, you might still get lucky tonight. How pathetic.”

“Shut up,” Sylvain growled fiercely. “Don’t you dare talk to her like that.”

“Leave it be, Sylvain. Let’s go.” Ingrid didn’t like the look in Sylvain’s eyes. They were filled with something dark and protective that made her think he may actually try and start a fight. And seeing as he was a trained, battle-hardened knight of the church going against a woman who looked like she’d never stepped foot outside of Gareg Mach, Ingrid didn’t see that ending well at all. She grabbed his forearm, tugging him away lightly.

Despite being quite a bit physically stronger than her, Sylvain put up no resistance, coming along with her easily.

“Oh, really? You’re just going to walk away, after all that?” The woman scoffed. “Good riddance. Have fun with your new pet, blondie.” She folded her arms across her chest, sniffing at them huffily. Still, Ingrid had the feeling she wouldn’t follow them out. Ingrid wouldn’t have either if she’d been on the receiving end of the wicked glower still plastered on Sylvain’s face.

On her way out, Ingrid managed to catch Annette’s eye. She shot her an apologetic look, mouthing out a quick ‘I’m sorry’, before hurrying out the door. She’d need to have the two of them over for tea later as an apology for ruining the night. But that was something she could sort out later: right now Ingrid was far more preoccupied with the warm body she was practically dragging down the street.

She waited until they were a fair distance from the bar before releasing Sylvain’s hand. In their rush to get out, it had slipped her mind she was still tugging him along by it.

Sylvain lurched forward suddenly, tripping on some invisible object. Ingrid darted forward quickly, supporting him before he had a chance to fall flat on his face. Sighing, she slung Sylvain’s arm around her shoulders, bracing some of his weight as they continued down the street in silence.

Ingrid led them off the main street, down a small alley lined with dark windows and empty stalls, all closed up for the night.

“Hey, uh, Ingrid, just wanted to say thanks for--”

“What on earth were you thinking?” Ingrid demanded, grinding to a sudden halt. Sylvain stumbled forward a few steps in surprise, barely managing to steady himself.

“Yeah...I know, I know,” Sylvain sighed, turning around to face her solemnly. “I totally deserved--”

“Sylvain, you’re such an idiot!” Ingrid’s voice sounded rough, and the backs of her eyes stung suddenly. It was like all the hurt and worry that had been boiling around inside of her since she saw that horrible woman hit him was releasing itself all at once. “Look at you! You’re completely bruised and bloody, and I’m pretty sure your nose is broken. Dumbass, what were you  _ thinking _ just letting her hit you like that?”

Sylvain opened his mouth, but all that came out was a small, choked noise. That obviously hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. “Ing-ey, I…” he trailed off, gaze falling softly to the ground, eyebrows knit together. “I’m…” He seemed to lose track of what he was saying, letting the words hang in the air listlessly.

Ingrid sighed, reaching into an inside pocket of her coat for a handkerchief. Taking a step forward, she wrinkled her nose suddenly at the coppery smell of blood. Resisting the urge to pinch her nose, Ingrid carefully began breathing out of her mouth instead. Carefully tilting Sylvain’s face up with one hand, she began to gently dab at the blood still dripping from his nose.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Sylvain,” she paused, a sigh hissing through her teeth, “I just...I  _ worry _ about you sometimes.”

It was quiet for a long moment.

“That it?” Sylvain finally said, his voice slow, “Yer not mad?”

“No, Sylvain, I’m not. I’m just,” she took in a sharp breath, releasing it in a small burst, “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah...sorry I keep dragging you into stuff like this.”

“If you were really sorry, you’d cut it out,” Ingrid responded sharply.

“But I mean how am I supposed to hold myself back when there’s just so many pretty women around? Although that last one was...maybe a little nuts.” Sylvain smirked suddenly. “Good thing you’re always here to patch me up afterward, huh, Ing-ey? Riiiight?”

Ingrid let out a small, exasperated noise. “That’s hardly the point."  Sylvain winced as Ingrid began dabbing at the blood around his upper lip. His nose was definitely going to need to be set. "And anyway," she continued, "why do you keep calling me that?"

“Callin’ you what?”

“Ing-ey.”

“That’s easy. It’s ‘cause it’s a cute nickname. And it suits you. C’mon, that’s pretty obvious. I thought you were smarter than that, IIIIng-ey,” he drawled with a lazy smile.

“Did that woman hit you too hard in the head or something?” Ingrid paused a moment, meeting Sylvain’s somewhat hazy expression with her own. “Seriously Sylvain, you’ve been acting...off all night.” She’d noticed it earlier too: Sylvain kept shifting between uncharacteristically boisterous and strangely silent. And he seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else.

Honestly, she’d just attributed it to moodiness.

“I’m totally fine, Ing-ey,” Sylvain hummed, nearly tripping again as he tried to stumble forward. Ingrid hardly had time to steady the stupid boy. But this time as he staggered back to right himself, she very distinctly detected the strong stench of alcohol on Sylvain’s breath.  Out on the street and in the bar, it had been indiscernible from the generally...strong, smells that exuded from the crowded shopping district. But now that she’d singled it out, it was overwhelming, even at a distance.

“Sylvain, are you drunk?” Ingrid demanded, crossing her arms firmly across her chest.

He shrugged. “So what if I am?”

“Dumbass!” Ingrid threw her hands up in the air, causing Sylvain to startle. “I can’t believe you! What were you thinking, getting wasted with some woman you’d only just met?”

“I wasn’t thinking, obviously.” He shrugged again, “I mean, look how it turned out.” He gestured broadly to his face, before letting his arm drop heavily to his side.

“Yeah, about that,” Ingrid fumed, rounding on Sylvain, “You  _ easily _ could have blocked her, either time she hit you. Drunk or not, I know your reflexes are better than that. So...why?” A high note of desperation entered Ingrid’s voice as she spoke. “Why didn’t you? Why did you let her hurt you like that?”

Sylvain smiled sadly, his gaze turning away from hers. “‘Cause I deserved it.”

“You...idiot,” Ingrid muttered softly.

Ingrid searched Sylvain’s face when he didn’t respond, but his expression had fallen blank again. Sighing, she resumed her gentle dabbing. The cloth was already filthy, and yet Sylvain hardly looked any better for it. He really was in awful shape. Who knew that woman would have such a strong right hook? She certainly hadn’t looked it.

“You know, you’re awfully quiet,” Ingrid remarked. No response.

Carefully, she pressed the soiled cloth to the base of his nose, pressing firmly to stop the blood flow. “Keep putting pressure here, until we can get you to the infirmary. We’ll need to set your nose: tonight. And,” Ingrid let out a small groan, “that cut on your forehead is probably going to need stitches.” Sylvain seemed to barely have the energy to nod as she passed him the handkerchief.

They were able to make it all of a block before it became very apparent Sylvain wasn’t going to be able to walk on his own. Disoriented from the alcohol and woozy from the small amount of blood loss, he kept tripping over his own feet.

“Here, let me help,” Ingrid offered him her shoulder, only regretting it a little when he proceeded to lean his full weight against her. Grunting, Ingrid shifted beneath him, slinging one arm around Sylvain’s. She wound the other tightly around Sylvain’s waist, anchoring herself against him so that she could actually keep the two of them upright.

Sylvain snickered as she struggled to regain her balance, offering no help whatsoever. “Oooh, awfully handsy there,” Sylvain teased, “Aren’t you going to at least buy me dinner first?”

“Do you want me to let you fall?” She grunted, beginning the process of lugging the idiot back towards the monastery.

“But I know you wouldn’t,” he said cockily, “You like me too much.”

“Can it,” Ingrid hissed.

“Yes ma’am,” Sylvain responded with a cheerful grin.

With Sylvain in such close proximity, leaning so heavily against her, Ingrid was once again nearly gagged by the incredibly foul reek of alcohol on Sylvain’s breath. “How much did you drink?” She asked irritably.

“Dunno,” she felt him try to shrug, “I had some. Does it matter?”

“Seeing as I’m the one pulling you home: yes, it does.”

Sylvain went quiet, expression cloudy as he zoned out again. Ingrid shook her head. Still...Sylvain had her genuinely worried.

For how often he went out skirt-chasing around town late at night, he’d never been much for drinking. Even in bars or during festivals, he had always exercised a surprising amount of self-control.

Ingrid had never even seen him close to drunk. So to watch him bumble around in this state...something had to be up.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain broke through her thoughts quietly. “Thanks. For saving me back there. And...for everything else you do. You really don’t hafta, for a jerk like me, anyway.

“You’re welcome,” she said, softly surprised by his words. It made something in her chest stir, soft and warm, and she allowed herself a small smile as Sylvain once again fell silent.

\--

They made it back to the monastery without further incident, apart from Sylvain’s bitching when Ingrid insisted he needed to at least try and walk on his own up the stairs of the monastery. Reluctantly, he had managed to stagger most of the way there: Ingrid hovering at his back to make sure he didn’t fall over and crack his head open.

By the time they reached the second-floor staff rooms, they were both panting breathlessly. A thin sheen of sweat clung beneath Ingrid’s hairline, and she had to resist the urge to wipe it away with her sleeve: seeing as her handkerchief was completely ruined.

“Hate how hot it gets up here,” Sylvain grumbled, mirroring Ingrid’s thoughts as she pulled him along towards the infirmary. “It’s the reason I never go to the library: I’m sweating after five minutes,” Sylvain trailed on groggily.

Ingrid arched an eyebrow. “Really? And that’s the  _ only _ reason I never see you in the library?”

“Well, sure. C’mon, it’s not like there’s any cute girls to pick up in stuffy places like that,” Sylvain snapped his mouth shut at the daggered look Ingrid shot him. “I-I mean not to say library chics aren’t cute! I mean yer there all the time, aren’t cha? Just, you know, I’ve tried before, and people can get  _ really _ mad if you interrupt their reading, ya know?” he quickly corrected.

Something in what Sylvain’d just said had caught Ingrid off guard, causing her heart to flutter. But she was so exhausted from the late hour and hauling Sylvain’s useless ass around Garreg Mach that she’d already forgotten what it was.

So she just rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugged with an easy smile, “I try. Gotta make your job interesting somehow, right?”

Ingrid opened her mouth to respond but instantly shut it again as she spotted a sliver of light further down the hall. Lightly nudging Sylvain, she indicated with a finger to her lips they needed to stay quiet. “I think Hanneman’s still up,” she hissed.

Sylvain nodded. Ingrid watched the light spilling out from the crack under the shut office door, watching for shadows, any movement, any indication they’d been detected.

Logically, Ingrid realized she was being a bit paranoid getting so worked up. Despite how much it felt like it, they weren’t technically doing anything wrong. Even so, it was past curfew, and Hanneman wasn’t the most...socially adept, of the professors here. He’d probably happily launch into a long lecture at one in the morning on crest research, without even noticing a student was bleeding out on the floor in front of him.

Suddenly, she heard a loud, rumbling snore on the other side of the door. Ingrid relaxed, releasing the breath she’d been holding. “I think he’s asleep.”

She continued forward a few steps, only to find Sylvain wasn’t following her. When she turned around, he was standing completely still, looking down at her adoringly with this big goofy grin spread across his face. “What?” She asked, obviously irritated.

“Nuthin’.”

She shot him a look, and yet Sylvain gave no indication he planned on moving. “Goddess give me strength,” she muttered, grabbing Sylvain’s hand and yanking him forward, “C’mon, let’s go. We’re almost there.”

“Hey, remember back when we were kids?” Sylvain began in a hardly quieted voice, “And we used to sneak out at night all the time to play? This feels like that. But now we’re like, adults.”

“Mhmm,” Ingrid mumbled, knocking softly on the door of the infirmary. “Professor Manuela?” she hissed softly. There was no response, so she knocked again, a bit louder this time.

“I mean we’ve always done stuff like this together, huh. Well I mean we used to, all the time. But now it’s like...we don’t really hang out anymore since starting at the academy. Which sucks, cause I thought it’d be the other way round, ya know, cause we’re practically living together now.”

“Yes,” Ingrid paused, a heavy wave of nostalgia settling deep in her chest. “I suppose that’s true.”

Not allowing herself time to linger on it, Ingrid rapped on the door again, much more forcefully. She sighed. “Professor Manuella, there’s a student that needs help -- are you even in there?”

With a small grunt, Ingrid pushed the door open, only to find the room abandoned. Manuela’s bed sat untouched and perfectly made in the corner of the room. Both ward beds were vacant. Ingrid sighed. “Of all the times,” Ingrid grumbled, leading Sylvain into the dark room and shutting the door behind them. Of course, wasn’t that just like Manuela: to be off with some man when a student needed her.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now, and Sylvain needed help. Ingrid steadily guided him to one of the patient beds, gently pushing him down onto the soft, goose-feather mattress. He sank in slowly, eyes never leaving her. “Hold on, I’m going to try and find something to help.”

“Anything you say, Ing-ey.”

Ingrid ignored him, lighting a lamp she’d found on the bedside table. It wasn’t the best light for patching up a broken nose, but it would have to do.

After a bit of rummaging around, Ingrid managed to find a simple first aid kit and several bottles of Vulenary. Grabbing the lot, she hurried back to Sylvain, who had begun quietly humming to himself.

“Not bad,” she remarked with a small smile, setting the kit down on the bed beside him, “What song is that?”

He shrugged tiredly. “Dunno, just somethin’ I hear Mercedes humming sometimes.”

She took Sylvain’s hand, passing him the shiny blue bottle, carefully unscrewing the cap for him. “Here, drink this,” Ingrid instructed.

“Yes ma’am,” Sylvain grinned, downing the bottle. He made a face as he lowered it, setting it on the small wooden table next to the bed. “Euck. I hate how bitter they make these things. Would it kill ‘em to add some sugar or something?”

“I think that might end up being counter-productive,” Ingrid smiled. “Feel any better?”

Sylvain nodded, eyes unclouding a bit as the medicinal potion helped him regain some clarity, “Yeah, way better.” Sylvain let out a small groan, “Almost -- ugh, now I can actually feel how broken my nose is.” He tenderly prodded the bridge of his nose. Ingrid smacked his hand away lightly.

“Well, now comes the hard part,” Ingrid pursed her lips, pulling the medical kit into her lap as she lowered herself carefully onto the opposite bed.

Like most here, Ingrid had basic first aid training. Such knowledge could mean the difference between life and death on the battlefield, so of course, it was a part of the curriculum. She also knew a fair share about how to set bones without using magic, which luckily included broken noses. That, she had learned from Glenn.

It wasn’t ideal, but there was no way she was leaving Sylvain like this until whenever Manuela decided to waltz in the next morning, so doing it herself was the best option she could think of.

“Alright, let me see the damage,” Ingrid gently gripped Sylvain’s chin, tilting his face to one side, and then the other. He did look markedly better. At least he wasn’t so pale anymore.

The cut along his forehead had already begun to mend itself, courtesy of the healing potion. She might have overreacted to it a touch earlier. Still, it was ringed with pink and looked rather nasty with all the dried blood. The Vulenary hadn’t done much for his nose, which had turned an angry shade of red that was quickly nearing purple. His left eye didn’t look much better either. Everything just beneath the cut on his head trailing down to his cheekbone was a blotchy magenta.

“This...isn’t going to be pleasant. But the Vulenary should help after we’re done,” Ingrid tried reassuring at the look of hardly concealed horror on Sylvain’s face. He never did have a very high pain tolerance.

Wadding up a bit of gauze until it was decently firm, gently pushing it into his nose. As carefully as she could, Ingrid began the process of setting his nose.

“Nah, you know what, I think we should probably wait until Manuela gets back, then she can fix it up with her healing magic, right?” His tone was almost pleading.

Ingrid shook her head, “I’m sorry Sylvain, but if we leave it, it won’t heal properly. Especially after taking that Vulenary.” She passed him the pillow resting at the head of the bed, “Here, bite down on this.”

He nodded, doing as he was told. “Hey,” he said around the pillow, “do you think you could not tell me when you do--a-aaagh!’ He cried, as Ingrid sharply set the bone back in place, hoping she’d remembered how to align it with the cartilage correctly.

Sylvain let out a small whimper as he spit out the pillow, prodding lightly at his nose. “Hey, I wasn’t ready.” She had to smack his hand away again as she gently pressed down an adhesive bandage across the bridge of his nose.

Sighing, Ingrid poured the contents of a small bottle of medical alcohol onto a scrap of fabric she’d found in the kit, dabbing it gently at the red area around Sylvain’s temple to disinfect it. She smiled softly as she worked.

“How will you manage to pick up any girls now, with your pretty face all beat up like that?” she remarked softly.

Sylvain laughed bitterly, “After tonight? I think I’m done with the ladies for good.”

“I wonder why I don’t believe you.”

“I’m serious! Noble’s honor. I...after today, I think I am done though. For real,” a tense note had entered his voice that made her feel uneasy.

“Sure, Sylvain,” Ingrid rolled her eyes, trying not to look as concerned as she suddenly felt.

Sylvain didn’t respond, and when she glanced over at him, his eyes looked far away. A sullen expression clouded his face, eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a tight line.

She knew that look. “What’s wrong?” Ingrid asked seriously, trying to meet Sylvain’s gaze.

“Nothing.”

She paused, her hand falling solidly into her lap. “Sylvain, what happened?”

When he offered no response, she continued, “I can tell, something's going on. Normally you aren’t so...passive when girls get mad at you. No, ‘passive’ isn’t the right word. You didn’t react at all. It was like you didn’t care.

“Even now,” Ingrid bit her bottom lip, finding herself struggling not to raise her voice, “You're acting like it doesn't matter that your face is all broken up. Like you don't mind that she  _ hurt _ you.” It was like he didn’t notice, didn't care how much it hurt her to see him like this.

Ingrid began to fidget with the cloth in her hands, picking at the corners, pinching them between her fingertips.

He shrugged, “Yeah, it’s just like that sometimes.”

“No, it’s not, Sylvain. And, seriously, what’s up with you getting drunk? That is so...so unlike you! You’ve been acting up all night, obviously something’s bothering you,” Ingrid huffed pointedly.

“I said it’s nothing,” Sylvain shot her a steely look, “Just drop it.”

Ingrid’s mouth snapped shut, and she recoiled a bit under the intense irritation of Sylvain’s glare. She hesitated a moment, seemingly unable to do anything but watch the upset look on his face. “Sorry,” she mumbled, eyes falling to the cloth in her lap. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Sylvain sighed, tension leaving his voice, “I shouldn’t have gotten worked up, not when you’re going to all this trouble to fix up my sorry ass.”

“I don’t mind,” she said meekly, “Really.”

Slowly, Ingrid began wiping down his face again, working around the trail of dried blood that ran down his nose. She hesitated only a moment at his lips, before continuing on, shaking her head at herself. Sylvain still wouldn’t look at her.

Ingrid leaned back on the bed, giving Sylvain a quick once over, satisfied with her work. Despite the black eye and a bit of redness at the bridge of his nose, she wouldn’t have known he’d just gotten punched in the face. Twice.

Once she’d packed up the kit and tossed aside the soiled cloth, Ingrid slid to the ground with a small huff. The bed was soft and melted around her head as she leaned back into it, eyes shut.

She’d very nearly drifted off.

“I got engaged today,” Sylvain said quietly.

Ingrid froze, eyes sliding open to land on Sylvain with a mixture of shock and, just a little, hurt. 

She didn’t know what to say, how she was supposed to just...react to that. When he’d said it so suddenly, out of the blue like it was the most casual thing in the world. So Ingrid stayed silent for a long time, just watching Sylvain as he anxiously wrung his hands together in his lap.

“Congratulations,” she murmured.

Sylvain barked out a bitter laugh. “Hardly.”

“Who to?” She managed to get out without sounding  _ completely _ bitter.

Sylvain shrugged. “Nobody you or I know. Just some noblewoman ten years older than us from the Alliance that’s interested in my blood.” He shot her a tight look. “I just found out today.”

“Sylvain, I’m...I’m sorry.”

He laughed again, a hollow sound that pained her as it rang out in the dead silence of the room. “Finally, an appropriate reaction.”

Ingrid nodded. She knew better than anyone the dread that filled most noble heirs at the thought of their romantic life. No one expected they’d be married away for love, nor that they would start a family with anyone they truly cared to spend the rest of their life with. It was depressing knowledge, and Sylvain had always had particular trouble handling it.

“I know what it’s like,” Ingrid said softly through gritted teeth, “To know you’re going to be married away against your will, for the good of your family. But...it’s our duty, as nobles.”

“Yeah, it does suck, huh?” Sylvain heaved a long sigh. “I pretty much lost it when I got the letter declaring my ‘happy engagement’ earlier,” he said bitterly.

“So you got wasted and started hitting up the first girl you saw.” Ingrid blanched.

“Yup. Right on the money, Ing-ey. I swear though, I really had no idea she was that girl’s sister,” Sylvain raised a hand to his temple, wincing at the memory, “Yikes. I mean, even  _ I’m _ not that much of a lowlife.”

Sylvain shook his head, “And you know, she wasn’t even that cute. Definitely not worth getting jacked in the nose for.” On habit, Ingrid opened her mouth to tell him off, but he cut in before she got the chance. “She didn’t even come close to the pretty blonde that stepped in to keep me from getting beat bloodier than I already was.”

“Oh, enough of that,” Ingrid protested, her cheeks burning as she quickly worked out the implication of his words. “Really, Sylvain, how drunk are you?” She managed with a short laugh. “Flirting with me, that woman must have given you brain damage.”

“Nah, I’m pretty clear-headed now, thanks to you,” Sylvain grinned coyly leaning forward to poke Ingrid lightly on the forehead. “You know, I think I just figured something out."

“Which is?”

“With my days numbered like this, I really should stop beating around the bush.”

At this, Sylvain leaned forward, capturing Ingrid’s chin a bit clumsily, tilting it up to meet his gaze. She felt her face warm further. But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes off him.

“S-stop it with talk like that,” she finally broke away from his gaze but made no move to push Sylvain off her. “You know as well as I do I’m stuck in the same situation you are.”

Sylvain grinned. “‘Stuck’, are you?”

“Oh, don’t look so smug. I didn’t mean it like that,” Ingrid screwed her mouth shut, “Merely that neither of us has the luxury of choosing who we’re with. Although, I suppose your time is up a bit sooner than we’d expected.”

The smile hadn’t dropped from Sylvain’s face. “Admit it blondie, you don’t like any of this arranged marriage crap either.”

Sylvain leaned forward suddenly, angling to poke Ingrid firmly in the chest. But, disoriented as he was, managed to completely miss: his hand instead shooting over her shoulder and sending him toppling off the bed, landing right on top of Ingrid.

“Ack! Sylvain, get off!”

Sylvain shifted quickly, scrambling to rearrange himself into an upright position. He squirmed a bit, before settling himself down firmly in Ingrid’s lap, giving no indication he planned on moving from there. Ingrid had half a mind to push him off, but...he had that endearing, lopsided smile on his face again, so she let him be.

Ingrid sighed. “Sylvain, sometimes I do wish things had been different. Really, I do. But I have to do what I must to help my territory, to help my father--”

“But what about helping yourself for once?”

She shook her head sadly. “Don’t be silly,” Ingrid began quietly, “What I want...who I love. It doesn’t matter.”

“Awww, Ing-ey you matter,” Sylvain lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Ingrid’s neck and pressing his forehead into her shoulder.

“You’re drunk,” Ingrid snorted. Still, she found it hard to quiet the soft fluttering in her chest. Nor ignore the way her skin crackled pleasantly where it came into contact with the tangle of limbs wound around her.

“So?” Sylvain challenged, voice muffled by the fabric of Ingrid’s shirt. “And anyway, who says you can’t do all that and  _ still _ find someone you like? It’s not like  _ all _ of the nobles around here aren’t at least a little worthy of your attention.”

Ingrid smiled. “‘Worthy’ of me then, hm?” Absent-mindedly, she laid an arm casually across Sylvain’s back, pulling him tighter against her.

“Seriously, you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes. Why can’t you help your family and be happy?”

“That’s not how that works.”

“And why not? You’ve just gotta get creative. An’ I mean, I’m not dumb, I realize House Galatea isn’t doing the greatest right now. That’s why your old man’s been bugging you so much about getting married, right? But House Gautier totally has plenty of land and more than enough resources to help you guys get back on your feet. So he wouldn’t have any real reason to complain.”

Ingrid’s heart skipped in her chest. “Oh?” she said, grinning coyly, “Sylvain, that couldn’t possibly have been a marriage proposal, could it? Aren’t you already engaged?”

She felt Sylvain’s rumbling laugh vibrate against her chest. “Yeah, something like that.” He nuzzled gently into the crook of her neck, so she could feel each word on his lips brush gently against her throat. “C’mon Ingrid, let’s elope.”

Ingrid choked, spluttering into a coughing fit as she tried to control her breathing. “Honestly, Sylvain,” she let out another small cough, “Although, it is a nice thought.”

“Is that a yes, then?” Sylvain leaned back, looking up at her hopefully. Ingrid had to turn away, cheeks warming.

“You know we can’t.”

“Why not?” He whined. “Haven’t we already been over this?”

“I’m...you’re  _ engaged _ .”

“Oh yeah. To some woman I’ve never even met,” Sylvain chuckled bitterly, “What do I care? Besides, she couldn’t possibly be half as beautiful as you are.”

“You are such a flirt,” Ingrid rolled her eyes. Still, she couldn’t ignore the small flip flop of her stomach.

“No no no, I’m totally serious,” Sylvain laughed, leaning his head back against Ingrid’s neck.

“I can tell.”

“Honest! Cause ya know, for all the girls I go after--”

“So shamelessly, might I add,” she smiled, softly stroking Sylvain’s back.

“I couldn’t ever work myself up enough to try anything with you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “No matter how bad I wanted to sometimes.”

“And why ever not?” Ingrid said softly. “Was it because you realized I’d have hit you so hard, you’d have walked away with more than a broken nose?”

“It’s ‘cause I was worried I might fall in love with you if I did.”

Ingrid’s cheeks felt hot. A small knot had appeared in her throat, choking any sharp retort she might have had prepared. Yet she couldn’t help the smile that bubbled to her lips, small and hopeful. “Is that so?” she said rather breathlessly.

“Absolutely. Only can’t say that plan worked out too well,” Sylvain’s arms tightened around her, “Even keeping my distance, I don’t think I ever stood a chance.”

It felt like Ingrid's heart was beating out of her chest, and it was all she could do to hum a noncommittal response. If this was the approach Sylvain used on every girl he met, she could easily see how they’d be falling at his feet in droves. But maybe that’s why she felt so warm and tingly inside: he’d never used this on another girl.

And she would know better than anyone.

She was broken from her thoughts by a cool hand, firmly bracing itself against her cheek. Sylvain was staring up at her fondly, golden eyes twinkling in the soft lamplight. Without thinking, her eyes fluttered shut. She could feel Sylvain’s shallow breathing buffet against her, puffing lightly against her cheeks.

“Wait.”

Ingrid captured the sides of Sylvain’s face, pressing him back as her eyes slid open. “We can’t,” she hadn’t meant to sound nearly as sad as she’d come off. “We...we both have responsibilities to our families.” Ingrid tried her hardest not to look Sylvain in the eye, not to watch his hurt gaze. Like a kicked animal. “We have responsibilities.” Ingrid’s chest hurt.

Sylvain’s expression dropped, falling into tense concentration for a moment, before perking up slightly. “I’m not sure how it’s even possible, but somehow even when you’re sad, your eyes are radiant.”

Ingrid met his gaze as Sylvain’s hand traveled lightly up the side of her face, fingers intertwining with her hair. Just the simple movement had him swaying, and she had to help still him so he didn’t lose his balance.

“Why can’t we just live our own lives?” He trailed the path of his fingers through her hair with his eyes, “Just once?”

Screw it all.

Ingrid gripped the sides of Sylvain’s face, pulling him forward and kissing him suddenly and fiercely. Sylvain wasted no time responding in earnest.

Ingrid couldn’t help the small, pleasured noise that fell through her lips as he moved against her. Goddess, kissing Sylvain was wonderful. It was horrible and wrong, but fantastic and perfect all at the same time. It was liberating.

She could still feel the small sting of guilt at betraying her family, but for the first time, she didn’t let it consume her. Because kissing Sylvain was everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever needed without even realizing it. It felt like she'd found another piece of her inside of him, like she was finally becoming whole.

His lips were soft and pliant, tenderly pressing against her at a languid pace that suited Ingrid just fine. He tasted disgusting, like blood and alcohol, but she couldn’t find herself caring.

And he was  _ good _ at it too. Far better than he had any right being.

Her hands fell down the sides of his face, fingers wandering and winding through the silky smooth hair at the back of his head. Ingrid couldn’t help herself: fiercely pulling him forward, pressing them so close together there couldn’t have been an inch of space between them.

She felt Sylvain grin against her, the cocky bastard. For her enthusiasm, he parted his mouth open slightly, teeth just barely grazing her lower lip. He earned another small, pleasured sound from Ingrid. His grip in her hair tightened, fingers pleasantly digging against scalp and causing Ingrid to fidget and shudder.

When Ingrid finally pulled away, she felt a mess. Her face was flushed and her hair was sticking out of its braid and fluttering around her face.

Sylvain was wearing this big, lopsided grin he couldn’t seem to shake. Strands of red hair tickled his cheeks, and Ingrid softly brushed them away.

“That…” she began listlessly, not even knowing how to finish her would-be thought.

“Amazing,” Sylvain marveled quietly. His eyes were glazed and filled to bursting with adoration. It turned Ingrid’s insides into a pasty mush. “What have I been doing wasting my time on other girls all these years?”

“I’d ask you the same, but for slightly different reasons,” Ingrid smiled.

All Sylvain seemed to be able to do was gaze at her lovingly. “Goddess, you’re beautiful.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.

“Hey...Sylvain,” Ingrid began slowly, hands absentmindedly running through Sylvain’s perfect red hair.

“Mm?” he murmured, leaning into her touch.

“Were you serious about what you said earlier? About...loving me?” Ingrid’s tone lightened, but there was an added tightness to it, “I mean, you don’t just say that to all the girls, do you?” She could definitely see why he was always so strangely successful if he did.

“Hmmm, well, I’ve never actually loved any of the other girls I’ve been with, so, no.”

She smiled. “Good.”

Ingrid pressed him into another soft kiss.

She slung her arms around his neck, scrabbling fingers digging into the loose fabric at the back of his shirt. Sylvain hummed appreciatively, hand falling to rest lightly at her waist.

It lingered there, cool fingers dancing softly against a small patch of exposed skin where her shirt had become untucked and ridden up. Ingrid shuddered as electricity ran up and down her spine, anywhere he touched her breaking out in goosebumps.

She leaned in further, arms winding around Sylvain’s neck and drawing him closer to her. She never wanted to be any further from him than this again.

“Let’s elope,” Ingrid said around a smile when she finally had to pull away for air.

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, Ingrid,” Sylvain smiled sleepily, nuzzling into her neck. Ingrid smiled down at her big, tired idiot, looping her arms around his waist and holding him tight against her.

She leaned forward, resting her face against the top of Sylvain’s head. Strands of red tickled her cheek as her eyes slid shut.

“And you know, I suppose we  _ are _ both nobles. So father wouldn’t be able to complain, really…” She began.

“Shh, don’t worry about it now, love.”

“And I don’t think he would disapprove of turning to House Gautier for aid...”

She felt Sylvain sigh contentedly against her. “I’ll be fine.” He pulled back slowly, half-lidded gaze looking up at Ingrid with such heavy adoration she thought her heart might burst. “We’ll figure it out.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Sylvain’s lips were already sealed around hers before she had the chance.

**Author's Note:**

> So I did do a bit of research on how to set a broken nose but my medical knowledge is /far/ from perfect, so if you see anything wrong please let me know. Anyway, I was way surprised that Ingrid/Sylvain didn't pop up under the common ships...I mean c'mon guys they're adorable. Guess that just means I need to finally finish my Sylvelix stuff.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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